


Fingolfin had died

by missgnutmeg



Series: Scattered Family Portraits [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgnutmeg/pseuds/missgnutmeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Fingon faces his final battle, he recalls his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fingolfin had died

**Author's Note:**

> "Utúlie’n aurë! Aiya Eldalie ar Atanatári, utúlie’n aurë!" and "Auta i lómë!" are lifted straight from the Silmarillion (p 225 of the edition I own :x) and mean "The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fatgers of Men, the day has come!" and "The night is passing!"
> 
> Can't lie, I often write these things while I'm depressed so they can get a little dark.

_Fingolfin had died fighting._

In fact, his father's death had already become rather legendary. Not only had Fingolfin ridden forth to challenge Morgoth himself to combat, but he had permanently injured the formidable Valar. In the end it had been as much exhaustion that had killed Fingolfin as Morgoth's hammer. And still, even in those final moments, the Elven king claimed a small victory by hewing the dark one's foot.

No matter how heroic the death, though, Fingon still missed his father.

So it was, on the morning of what would later be named the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, that he longed for his father's counsel against the darkness that settled upon his heart. He desperately wanted the reassurance of the warm tenor of his father's voice whispering in his ear. Compared to his father, he felt but a pale shadow both as a king and a man. "What do I do, adar? What would you have done?"

Murmurs passed through the assembly before him, and a blast of trumpets drew him from his musings. From his place at the parapet, he could just make out the source. Turgon! His younger brother had come to join them in their hour of fear. Gondolin's army was great, true, but it was his brother's face that encouraged Fingon. In the strong cheekbones and blue-grey eyes that reflected the wisdom of their father.

His heart felt unburdened, its shadow passing, and he called out to those gathered below, "Utúlie’n aurë! Aiya Eldalie ar Atanatári, utúlie’n aurë!"

"Auta i lómë!" They all cried back. And Fingon almost believed it.

 

_Fingolfin had died valiantly._

The battle had been long and hard and painful. There were many casualties and Fingon began to despair it lost ere the morning. But with the new day, hope dawned as the forces of Gondolin once again joined his own. His brother Turgon fought to his side, and though they had little time for reunion, his hope was rekindled by the nearness.

A quick hug was all that was allowed them within the heat of battle, Fingon speaking to his brother in a harsh whisper even as they drew apart. "Let us fight this day as to make adar proud." At the combined might of the House of Fingolfin against the foe, thoughts of victory began to resurge among their armies and they attacked with renewed vigor and began once more to win the field.

However, hope could not last for Gothmog came forth from Angband with ever more of Morgoth's host. And they divided the Elven army, forcing the sons of Fingolfin apart once more. Fingon heard his brother yell his name for a final time even as they were separated.

Many evil things came then, not the least of which were the balrogs. Fear was their countenance, as they wielded their swords or axes or maces and long whips of fire. Burning darkness. Flame of night. And the fiercest of all these came towards him.

 

_Fingolfin had died a hero._

Facing Gothmog, Fingon truly earned his epithet "the valiant" that day. Surrounded by the corpses of his guard - many of whom he had long trusted and loved - he would not give up to the Lord of Balrogs.

It was a fierce duel, and if circumstances had been different, perhaps Fingon may have won. Alone amidst the host of his enemy, he stood no chance and he knew it. "I'll see you soon, adar, but lend me your courage for now." The words came as little more than a breath for himself, to strengthen him as he parried yet another attack from the black axe before him.

All his attention was put into defending himself from the being before him and this was his fatal mistake. As the second balrog's whip caught him by surprise, Fingon heaved a great sigh and his head was flung back so that he could see the sky.

"Adar, I'm coming."


End file.
